Ten Forty Seven
by Tuxedo Elf
Summary: It's not just the time his parents died. It's the time Dick checks in from Spyral. And the time when he doesn't.


Ten Forty Seven

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Ten forty seven. It was a time that had held significance since he was eight years old. At first, it had been a time he couldn't bear to think of, the time of his parents' deaths, the time his father's watch had stopped at.

Later, when he'd realised that there was no forgetting it, he'd put it to good use, setting it as the time that would unlock the entrance to the cave. Over the years it had been used for a variety of reasons, always important. Yet it was the current one that was laying heavily on him now.

Ten forty seven was the time they'd agreed that Birdwatcher would call in. An easily remembered, significant time. Gotham time that was, as there was no telling what time zone Dick would be in on any given day. Which was why he hadn't worried at first. He'd gone a day or two without checking in before, when he was on a mission. Two days, even three, he hadn't thought too much of it. Yet when day four had arrived and he still hadn't made contact, the first strands of worry began to creep in.

Day five only increased his concern and he began to take his worry out on those around him, becoming even more snappish and withdrawn than usual. The others wondered at it, but had long since given up trying to get him to talk about his feelings. Not that he could, he thought bitterly. He was utterly alone in his worry, the others believing Dick dead for months. And for that, he only had himself to blame.

By the end of the seventh day, he was nearly sick with worry. He had no way of trying to make contact – that had been done deliberately to protect Dick's double agent status. He waited for Dick to contact him. Somehow, in all his planning and plotting, the possibility of this had slipped by.

He grew increasingly aggressive over the days that followed, until no one dared approach him for fear of his reaction. He didn't care and patrolled alone, coming down on the criminals he stopped without restraint, even the police who picked them up afterwards noticing the extra brutality.

Even Alfred simply patched him up and went on his way, his usually sharp tongue quiet. Bruce knew that Alfred simply put his moods down to the many losses they'd suffered recently. He wasn't entirely wrong.

As the week stretched into two, sleep became a thing of the past. Instead he spent what should have been his resting hours trying to hack into Spyral, but never getting very far. It wasn't surprising, after all, it was a large part of the reason he'd needed an operative on the inside. But now more than ever he wished there were a way to get in. He needed to know, even if he feared the answer.

Every night, he put off his patrol until eleven, waiting anxiously, hopefully, near the comm. Every night, his hope faded a little more as 10.47 came and went. God, what had he done? The mission was always going to be dangerous, but maybe he'd been unbelievably stupid when he left Dick without backup. Without friends or family.

Getting up, he went and stood in front of the glass case holding the Nightwing uniform. It had been put up for show, to cement the belief that he was dead. But now... what if it became a true memorial? The thought was nauseating. He'd lost enough sons and the moment he thought Luthor had killed Dick was forever burned into his memory. Dick had survived despite it all, but had it only been to die far from home a few months later?

As the second week came to an end, he could feel grief taking root in his heart again. It had been too long now, yet he refused to give up his vigil, each night watching the clock as the numbers changed. 10.45, 10.46, 10.47... sixty seconds of waiting, hoping, praying. 10.48, 10.49, 10.50... maybe his clock was off by a minute or two, he'd wait... yet every night, when he left the cave at 11.00, he sank a little deeper into the pit of despair.

Two weeks came and went. Logic told him to give up, but he couldn't. He tried, but nonetheless, he still sat at the comm every night. Fifteen days, sixteen.

It was seventeen days now since he'd last heard from Dick. The clock glared bright digital numbers in front of him, seeming to taunt him with its refusal to stop. 10.45. 10.46. Bruce put his head in his hands. He didn't want to look, to see the minute come and go.

10.47.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

His head shot up, his heart skipping a beat before starting to race. For a moment he thought he was hearing things, but no, the comm was beeping insistently. Almost fumbling in his haste, he hit the button. "Birdwatcher?" He'd deny it if asked later, but the fear, the worry, was not something he could hide. Not this time.

"Mr Malone." The voice was dry, hoarse, but definitely, unmistakably, Dick's. "Sorry I'm late."

"Late?" he repeated incredulously. "D... Birdwatcher, it's been seventeen days. I... what happened?" Even without the answer, he could feel the tension leaving his body as sheer relief took over. He was alive. He hadn't felt relief like that since Luthor restarted Dick's heart.

"Mission went bad, got stuck in the desert," Dick said apologetically. He knew Bruce well enough to know that he must have been going out of his mind. "This is the first chance I've had to contact you since we were rescued."

Bruce stopped on hearing that. "Are you okay, Birdwatcher?" he asked tensely.

"I'm fine... sunburned, dehydrated, but that's all."

Like that wasn't enough. He forced down the guilt that had been growing steadily the past two and a half weeks. "Are you sure, Birdwatcher? Can you... continue?"

There was a light and oh-so-welcome laugh on the other end of the line. "Of course I can. I'm not quitting now, not after all that. Don't worry."

Don't worry. As if he'd done anything else the past seventeen days. "As long as you're sure."

"I am. And I managed to do some good. The heart is safe for the foreseeable future."

Bruce smiled, not that anyone could see it. So was his. But he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't say so. "That's good. I'm glad."

"Me too." There was a pause. "Look, I have to go. I'm still on bed rest, they'll be coming to check on me soon. But I'll check in tomorrow, okay? Usual time."

"Usual time. Look after yourself, Birdwatcher," He said as he hung up, trying to ignore the joy that filled him, joy that came from knowing he hadn't lost him.

Ten forty seven. He'd be waiting.

END

Notes: So, in case it wasn't obvious, this was set during Grayson #5.


End file.
